


Nothing Else Mattered

by DemonSquipster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: How Do I Tag, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, SO, and um, enjoy, finding a beta sounds like a lot of work, i don't remember writing this, oof, that's all thanks, this sucks, yeah i'm not rereading my writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonSquipster/pseuds/DemonSquipster
Summary: Mick would rather not sleep. It's easier to ignore your problems and avoid them rather than facing them, as he's learnt. Ketch disagrees, and would appreciate it if Mick would take care of himself. Too bad Mick would rather not.





	Nothing Else Mattered

**Author's Note:**

> unrelated but a song keeps coming to mind every time i read the title and it's really irritating because i can't remember what the hell it is   
> except i know the lyric is matters not mattered   
> it's really fucking irritating what the hell is this bullshit   
> because i can't google it   
> i mean  
> what the hell am i supposed to google 
> 
> uPDATE: HOLY SHIT IT'S CARRY ME HOME BY JORJA SMITH  
> I FOUND IT  
> T H A N K G O D  
> FUCK
> 
> anyways thanks for putting up with my bullshit   
> i'm going to go find another draft to finish have a nice day

Mick practically clung to Ketch, fighting the sleep that threatened to overcome him. Some movie Mick didn’t recognise played as background noise; he was certain that Ketch was paying attention, but Mick couldn’t bring himself to care about what was happening.    
  
He was exhausted - mentally, physically, and emotionally. Everything that had happened throughout the day had worn him down. He didn’t want to sleep. Not yet, not with the possibility of nightmares. His guilt and grief torturing him in forms of people he once knew. They weren’t them, not really. He was perfectly aware of that. They were just his mind playing tricks on him. But he couldn’t help but dread them. He hated every minute of it. Some days, it was easy to remember these people as who they were. Others, it was easier to remember them with how they died.    
  
Mick knew he should sleep soon. In fact, he had a meeting early in the morning. He had reports that were undone, and knew his one of his superiors would show up soon to demand to know why they weren’t done. (Mick would have to resist the urge to tell them he didn’t want to write them.) Instead he’d simply apologise, and make up some kind of an excuse, and most likely get yelled at - depending on who showed up.    
  
He needed to do those reports. But he couldn’t - not now, when Timothy’s death hung so heavy on his mind. The anniversary (Mick had always hated that word in regards to death - it sounded like it all was a good thing, when he knew very well that it wasn’t) of Timothy’s death had passed a few days ago, and it still felt like the death (murder, he reminded himself) happened yesterday.    
  
He took a shaky breath, yawning a little as he did so, and readjusted his head on Ketch’s shoulder. “You seem tired,” Ketch remarked. Mick didn’t respond, which caused Ketch to continue. “You have a briefing in the morning, don’t you?“    
  
Mick knew damn well what Ketch was doing. He was hinting that Mick should sleep, without saying that Mick should sleep, because Ketch knew that it pissed Mick off when Ketch reminded him that he should sleep. It really was a very vicious cycle.    
  
“I’m not tired,” Mick bit back. “Michael.” The sharply-uttered word was enough to convince Mick to pull away from Ketch. He lied down on their bed, facing away from the brunette. “Well, I suppose laying down is, in fact, a step in the right direction,” Ketch muttered.   
  
Mick felt Ketch place a hand on his hip, and he reached over and pushed it off. Ketch sighed, frustration dripping from the loud noise. “Mick, this is utterly childish. You can’t just pout because I believe you should rest.”    
  
Mick mentally pushed aside some smart remark about what a hypocrite Ketch was being with that statement, and glanced over at the man. Ketch was silent for a while, staring blankly at Mick, as if expecting some kind of response. After a while, he wrapped an arm around Mick, and lied down behind him.    
  
Mick nearly immediately rolled over to look at Ketch, and buried his face in Ketch’s shoulder. “I just... I can’t sleep right now. Not yet.” Mick’s words were muffled by Ketch’s shoulder, but they both understood what he was saying. “Okay. Take your time,” Ketch agreed. Mick pulled himself closer to Ketch.    
  
Ketch moved away from Mick slightly to reach down and pull the duvet over them both. Mick let his eyes slip shut as he felt Ketch’s lips hover over his neck. They met with the crook of Mick’s neck; Mick relished in the contact, and couldn’t resist leaning into the kiss. He felt Ketch’s mouth pulling at his skin - biting, and sucking, and fuck, that was going to leave a mark.    
  
He couldn’t bring himself to care though. Mick had shown up to headquarters with countless marks on his body from Ketch at this point; what difference did one more mark make?    
  
He felt Ketch’s hand sliding down his side, and he stopped it when Ketch reached his hip. “For someone who wanted me to go to sleep so badly, this isn’t something I expected,” Mick remarked.    
  
Ketch smiled, and leaned down to level with Mick’s face. “Maybe we can stay up just a bit longer.” He brought his hands up to rest on both sides of Mick’s face as he pulled the younger man in for a kiss.    
  
Mick had always loved moments like these, where nothing else mattered but the two of them. It was like nothing else existed but the two of them. They could hold each other and hope that maybe everything would be fine. They’d get out of this hell together. After all, they’d lasted this long together. They’d made it through so much because of the British Men of Letters - but they had done it together. That’s exactly how they’d get out of the British Men of Letters. Together.    
  
Mick had never expected anything like this when he was a kid. He’d always been told he was going to grow up and marry some beautiful woman. (He could hardly say that Arthur Ketch was a beautiful woman.) Then when his parents died, he ran away. Mick thought about that often. What would his life be like if he hadn’t ran? He’d never know, because he didn’t make that choice. He was never even sure that he regretted it. At times like now, with Ketch in his arms, he knew he didn’t regret it. He never would have met Ketch if he stayed.    
  
They pulled away, gasping for air. “Christ,” Ketch mumbled against Mick’s lips as he tugged at Mick’s shirt. “Now?” Mick asked. Ketch nodded, and Mick pulled back to slip his shirt off.    
  
Mick may have been tired before, but he sure as hell couldn’t go to sleep now.


End file.
